You can't stop saving the people
you know you shouldn't help.
They are the shadows on the walls at night
that call out your name in your dreams.
There are no tomorrows for them,
just the insecurities of yesterday.
You haven't learned to say "No."
and it kills you every time
the words don't come out.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Taken out of context
this is an end.
The light of a half
sun has spilled over
the horizon, caked in peach
and the cream of clouds
that the trees in our yard
have bruised the bottoms of.
But what if-
the stars are glowing in
the canvas sky
and the light flickers through
the blinds to pierce
our drowsy eyes? If
the birds are ruffling their feathers
on the fence outside and
the grass is starting dew,
is this still an end?
taken out of context
this is the beginning.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
The last rays of starshine broke
up the northern skies
shoved their finger
into the crevices
the horizon cut into the land so
that tomorrow could hide
from yesterday on back
there had been some inconsistencies :
the sun beat the moon to rising
waves stood stock still in rows
of porcelain twilight and - -
The last rays of starshine broke up
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
i'm afraid to fall asleep
to your faerie lullabies and
find you in a dream, just
whispers in my ear.
can you see the
sorrow on my breath?
i can only taste the rattle
of your bones like sulfur and petals,
like poison.
you are wilted and rotting
in my arms,
the decay of an orchid.
your beauty spent, but
i'll still pillow the pieces
of you that I find in my
hair and under my sheets,
against my tongue and pray
you're still warm.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
there are bodies in the water
again palms turned up like lilies
petalled fingers curling for the sun
his face has started to turn
blue as the shadows on the banks
greener than the sides of the fish
eating at the hole his rib left
she looks like eve with leaves
caught in her hair and her eyes sewn
shut mouth cut in a smile
and I pray god isn't watching
their decay as I push another
off the pier
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC
There is a war in his bones, &
the violets have lost their colours
between gunfire & shrapnel.
Like petals in the sand, roasting in the
sun’s stare,
the photograph of the woman
he met in Chu Lai has faded.
He can’t remember what her face
looked like once she was buried.
Vô danh was carved into her headstone.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
The final sounds of trumpets fade
in the wake of Horsemen's hooves
after the day of Resurrection,
making way for Adrianna & Edgar.
The last woman & man.
Only this time,
Lucifer made man
from the skin on the bottom
of woman's feet.
She could not decide
whether that meant she was
allowed to tread on him or not.
Instead of creation,
in seven days there was destruction.
The earth tore and buildings crumbled,
leaving spindle arms
like the branches of so many fleshy trees
sticking out of the rubble.
Adrianna pauses here & wonders
if she should imitate the gesture,
throw her palms to the sky
and wave at the shadows of dying sun.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
heat blurs the evening streets
like waves across asphalt oceans
it all blends into nothing
a mirage,
highway hypnosis,
they won’t notice her
on the side of the road,
long white ears dyed carmine
and the light fading to her eyes
angels will come for her eventually,
with buzzard wings and beaks
they'll steal the secrets
from her bones and leave her
empty like the memories of july
she would have had
if she'd lived long enough
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:58 AM UTC
I see the cracks in my stars
and yours
and they look no different
from all the mistakes:
your lying and cheating,
all my broken promises.
I don’t have a reason
for every day like you do
I’m lost in the passage of seconds,
in every pause before your heartbeat
Closet full of wax
skeletons I can’t get rid of
They tend to melt
in the cold of your heart
and shape into the only worry
I've ever had:
what will I do when
the spot beside me is empty
where you used to sleep
and the sheets are cold?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
His dreams are told through the eyes of an honest liar
and those eyes are black like respiratory failure
and sleep paralysis, his passions are inflamed
in monochrome and cream his nights are longer
than evenings in August, the sheets cling like the arms
of a past love, and he feels as though he is drowning
in pools framed with lashes.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC